


don't tell your mother

by seeingrightly



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:16:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly/pseuds/seeingrightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hi,” Jack says, and he wants to put his arm over Bittle’s shoulder as they walk to the car but there are lots of reasons he can’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't tell your mother

**Author's Note:**

> based on [THIS](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/123143636902), with a bit of dialogue lifted from there
> 
> am i sorry or embarrassed that the title is from demi lovato's "cool for the summer"? a tiny bit, but mostly not at all

 

They hug at the airport.

Jack’s got a Falconers cap tugged down low over his face and is trying not to bump anyone with the bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s wondering how hard Bittle’s going to be to find in the crowd when something hits him from the side, not too hard but gripping tightly for just a second. Jack barely has time to get an arm around Bittle before he pulls away, smiling up at Jack so, so widely, but his arms down at his sides and inches between them.

It’s - _any_ inches would be too many, really, now, Jack thinks, but - it’s different from before, too, different from at school, when Bittle would always let Jack crowd him. It’s something in the way Bittle’s holding his shoulders, an anxiety Jack hasn’t really seen, or at least not in a long time.

“Hi,” Jack says, and he wants to put his arm over Bittle’s shoulder as they walk to the car but there are lots of reasons he can’t.

-

Bittle talks with his hands while he drives, and he’s _much_ more Southern than Jack has ever heard him, and his skin is tanned and freckled under the collar of his t-shirt, and Jack has to touch him.

“And _then_ there was a truck that got overturned on the way here that, hand to God, had _chickens_ in it that got out and were runnin’ all across the road,” Bittle is saying, and then Jack reaches over and snatches his hand out of the air.

“Oh,” Bittle says, and when he doesn’t pull away Jack rests their hands on the console.

“The chickens,” Jack prompts, and Bittle turns, looks at him for a long second.

“Okay,” Bittle says, “the chickens.”

His fingers twitch against Jack’s as he talks, like they keep forgetting they’re preoccupied now, and Jack watches a smile slowly spread across Bittle’s face, like he’s gotten used to the pressure of fingers around his.

-

“Coach is already over at the barbeque settin’ up,” Bittle says as he pulls into the driveway, and his tone is nonchalant but Jack knows it means something.

He’s not sure what, exactly, because it’s not like Bittle’s mom knows anything either, but if it means Bittle’s shoulders don’t sit as close to his ears once he sees his dad’s car is gone, then Jack’s happy.

Bittle pulls his hand out of Jack’s and wipes it against his jeans before reaching for the key, and then he darts a sheepish look over at Jack, who laughs a little before getting out of the car. Bittle opens the back door on his side just as Jack does, but Jack snatches up his bag first and slings it over his shoulder.

“Jack,” he groans, “if you won’t let me carry your bag for the sake of letting me feel like a good host, at least think of how my mother will murder me for it?”

Jack’s already at the door by the time Bittle’s done whining and locking up the car, though, and he smiles over his shoulder as he opens the door.

The house is small, all warm colors and cozy, with worn and comfortable-looking furniture everywhere he looks. It’s a little messy, and it smells like the Haus kitchen.

“That you, boys?” Suzanne calls, and Jack follows her voice into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mrs. Bittle,” Jack says.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Suzanne?” she asks, her hands on her hips. “And didn’t your mama ever teach you not to wear hats indoors?”

Jack pulls the hat of his head but before he can open his mouth to apologize, Suzanne turns to Bittle who’s come in behind him.

“And didn’t _your_ mama teach _you_ to carry your guest’s bags?”

Bittle lets out an annoyed huffs and pulls out his phone, holding it up in front of him.

“Smile,” he says loudly, and Suzanne lets out a huff of her own but she puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder and another on his arm.

He manages a disarmed smile, only realizing after the picture was taken that he’s still holding his hat awkwardly.

“Jack, you want one on your camera with Dicky?” Suzanne asks.

He takes a moment to be startled that she knows about his camera, and that he got called out so soon on having brought it, but he recovers quickly.

“Oh. Only if Dicky wants to.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Bittle groans, but he lets his mom shove him toward Jack.

He digs out his camera and passes it over, and there’s a long, awkward moment of the two of them standing in front of the Bittles’ sink and not touching at all, Bittle’s tension tangible even across that distance, before Suzanne rolls her eyes.

“Look like you like each other!” she says, and Jack puts his arm over Bittle’s shoulder and thinks, _but not too much._

“Okay,” Suzanne says once she’s relinquished the camera, “the barbeque starts in about a half an hour. You really did get here just in time. Head on upstairs to drop off your stuff and freshen up.”

She pauses, and then her eyes widen.

“Not that you _need_ to freshen up, honey, you look _lovely_ , especially for someone who just spent hours on a plane.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, and Bittle shoves him out of the kitchen.

-

On the stairs, Jack bumps his shoulders against Bittle’s, and Bittle elbows him back.

-

There’s a long, long moment after Bittle shuts and locks his door where they stare at each other. He can practically see Bittle vibrating with anxiety and tension and excitement from across the room, and when he takes a step forward Bittle practically jumps.

“Hey,” Jack says, and he drops his bag on the floor and reaches a hand out and waits.

Bittle bites his lip and stares at Jack’s hand, and Jack almost expects him to double check that the door is really locked, but he takes Jack’s hand and lets himself be reeled in. Jack gets an arm around his waist and an arm around his shoulders and presses his face against Bittle’s hair until he feels him unwind, breathing out hugely against his throat, wrapping his arms around Jack’s back.

“Hi,” Bittle says finally, and Jack kisses the side of his head.

Bittle lets out a very tiny, strangled noise, tightens his grip around Jack briefly, and then pulls back to look at him for a long moment.

“Hi,” he says again, and then he leans up and kisses Jack, surer than the only other time they got to do this, certainly still nervous but much surer.

Jack brings a hand up to the back of Bittle’s head, knocking their foreheads together gently when Bittle pulls away. As they look at each other, the smile slowly slips off of Bittle’s face.

“What is it?” Jack asks.

“I’m sorry,” Bittle says. “That this is all that can really… happen… here. And that we have to go back downstairs in a few seconds.”

Jack kisses him again, a hand on either side of his face.

“I like this,” he says.

Bittle wraps his fingers around Jack’s wrists and squeezes.

-

As they watch the fireworks, Bittle presses his leg up against Jack’s in the dark, and it is enough for now.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [jaqueslaurent](jaqueslaurent.tumblr.com)


End file.
